


Blitzed

by Markovia



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: Ikebukuro is still buzzing with life, even at this hour, but Shizuo doesn’t mind. The city has always been dear to him, he likes getting lost in the sea of unknown faces, he likes the lights and sounds. When it’s peaceful like this, he can’t think of anywhere else in the world he’d rather be.However, peace can be shattered so easily.





	Blitzed

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy. Just a fun, short-ish fic that's slightly more light-hearted than most of my work (I really must stress - slightly) Next part soon.

Shizuo is the first to leave. It may be his birthday but his head is spinning from the amount of whisky he’s been fed over the last few hours. Nightclubs aren’t somewhere he feels particularly comfortable - those that weren’t his friends sent him wary glances across the dancefloor, they moved out of his way when he approached the bar. It was obvious that they all knew exactly who he was and of his reputation and that made him uneasy. At least no-one tried to mess with him tonight. Shizuo had a strange feeling most of the evening, as if someone were going to approach silently in the dim light and hiss a threat into his ear. That feeling may have come from the familiar, disgusting smell that permeated the air and the manic laugh that he believes he heard over the pulsating beat of the music. It probably wasn’t _him_ , he certainly didn’t see him amongst the crowd, but it still put him on edge for a while and lingered in his head long enough to spoil the evening a little. He tried to keep the fleabag out of his head but the smell, the alcohol, the music and the frictious writhing of the crowd - eventually he felt suffocated and had to leave.

 

It’s a cold evening but the low temperature is much appreciated after the sweltering confines of the nightclub. Shizuo makes sure he has his wallet and keys before stepping under the rope barrier and back onto the street. He lights a smoke and starts the short walk home. As he walks, he sends Kyouhei and Tom a text message to let them know he’s going back to his apartment, they would only worry he’s gotten himself into a fight if not. Ikebukuro is still buzzing with life, even at this hour, but Shizuo doesn’t mind. The city has always been dear to him, he likes getting lost in the sea of unknown faces, he likes the lights and sounds. When it’s peaceful like this, he can’t think of anywhere else in the world he’d rather be.

 

However, peace can be shattered so easily.

 

There’s a soft smack on his side where someone bumps into him. Shizuo halts to apologise, then a familiar smell on the breeze hits him. The usual sensation of anger bubbling in his stomach begins, his hands curl into fists automatically and then Shizuo is spinning on his heel to face the pest behind him. Izaya stares back, lips pulled down into a frown. He’s wearing a smart suit, an expensive looking piece of attire, but his tie is half undone, this hair is sloppy and mussed. He looks _strange_ , Shizuo thinks, not all there. Not that he’s ever considered the informant to be entirely sane, of course. But this isn’t Izaya’s usual mania, it’s something else. His stance isn’t right, he’s slumped onto one hip and his hands are twitching at his sides. Shizuo’s good mood dissipates instantly, he clenches his fists at his side and takes a step toward the other man.

 

“Izaya,” Shizuo growls, the name barely more than a furious rumble in his chest. He can feel his blood pumping harder through his veins and the familiar rush of violent adrenaline that arrives with Izaya. “What the fuck do you want? What are you doing h-?”

 

He’s cut off when Izaya stumbles forward and rests a hand on his shoulder, slim fingers roughly digging in around the muscle there. It’s not a threat, or a gesture, from the way he’s leaning forward and his head hangs toward the ground it seems to be for support. There’s a moment of silence where Shizuo freezes and blinks, once, twice, then the cigarette in his mouth drops to the ground. The blond scowls and grabs Izaya’s wrist so that he can pull it off his shoulder and drag the other man upright. The informant groans at the sudden movement and when his head rolls back Shizuo can see he’s paler than usual, almost a sickly shade of green.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you, flea? Talk,” Shizuo demands, gruffly. The immediate desire to punch Izaya in the face has dissipated, replaced by mild annoyance and curiosity as to what the hell is wrong with him. He doesn’t say anything, just pathetically tries to shake Shizuo off so the blond tightens his grip to the point that Izaya hisses in pain. “ _Talk.”_

 

Izaya raises his free hand and places it on his forehead, moaning. When he speaks his voice lacks it usually smooth quality and he’s slurring his words as if drunk. “Meeting new client.”

 

“Oh yeah, and what did they do? Smack you over the head for being a little shit?” he asks, scowling. Izaya doesn’t smell like booze, nor are his cheeks flushed red from the effects of alcohol. Shizuo deduces that he isn’t drunk but there’s something else wrong with him.

 

“Think there w-ugh, fuck,” Izaya cusses. Shizuo raises a brow at that. He’s never heard Izaya swear before and it sounds odd coming from his mouth. His choice of insult or swears are usually more verbose - ‘protozoan’ comes to mind. Izaya shakes his head and starts squeezing his eyes open and shut. After a few repeats of this he groans again and glances up at the larger man. His eyes widen in surprise. “Shizu-chan?”

 

Shizuo growls under his breath and shoves the information broker until his back is up against the wall of the building next to them on the pavement. The informant lets out a loud whine, a sound Shizuo finds very unnatural coming from his mouth. “Yes, shit head, it’s me. What is wrong with you? Tell me now or I won’t hesitate to beat the shit outta you.”

 

“Why’d I have to run into you?” he mumbles. His head drops and his body goes limp until Shizuo starts shaking him. “Monster.”

 

“ _Talk_ ,” Shizuo snarls, slamming a fist into the wall beside Izaya’s head. The informant jerks to the side as the concrete crumbles to dust and Shizuo notices that his hands move to fumble around in his pockets. With a low growl he grabs Izaya’s forearms and drives them back against the wall. As expected, a flick knife is now in the informant’s hand, the blade only halfway out of the handle. Shizuo slams his hand back against the bricks until he drops it and releases Izaya so he can retrieve it from the floor.

 

“Stupid little shit,” he grunts, pocketing the knife. “I should just kill you now, shouldn’t I? Do a lot of people a favour.”

 

Izaya leans back against the wall, nursing his bloody fingers. “S’not a fair fight, monster.”

 

The blond hesitates then lets out a sigh and shakes his head in disbelief at his own mercy. It wouldn’t be fair to fight with Izaya when he’s like this. If the situation were reversed Shizuo is certain that Izaya wouldn’t hesitate to throw a knife at him but he wants to be a better person than that, even if it means putting their conflict aside for

 

“Whatever. I can’t be assed to fight with you tonight anyway,” Shizuo says, sourly. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an aggravated sigh. “C’mon. What happened? Tell me or I’ll leave you here and you can sort out your own fucking mess.”

 

“Think something went in my drink. Ran out through b-bathroom,” Izaya replies, trying to focus on his words. “Can’t- s’all blurry.”

 

The blond stares blankly at the other man, gaze trailing over the way he’s shaking and his pupils are blown so wide that there’s no trace of the usual, hideous burgundy. He frowns as he considers his options. Leave him here and let whoever drugged him track him down? That doesn’t seem right, even to Shizuo. He might hate Izaya’s guts but looking at him in this pathetic state, it doesn’t seem right. You’re going soft in your old age, Shizuo thinks wryly to himself. Another option is to call him a cab but he doubts any driver will take Izaya in his current state and there’s no way he’s sitting in a car with him all the way to Shinjuku. Eventually, he sighs and grabs hold of the informant’s collar so that he can drag him forward. Izaya weakly protests, still blinking rapidly to try and ground himself, but Shizuo holds him easily and makes the other man look him in the eye.

 

“It’s shitty luck that I was the one you ran into, flea,” he grunts, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “But I’ll cut you a fucking truce since I’m in a good mood.”

 

“Truce?” Izaya slurs, hands coming up to curl around Shizuo’s wrist. A semblance of his usual smirk passes across his face. “So noble, Shizu-chan.”

 

Izaya is still annoying, even in this state. Shizuo sighs and starts to walk in the direction of his apartment, dragging the smaller man along behind him.

 

“Come on, flea,” he grumbles. “Before I change my mind.”

 

“What’re y’doing?” the informant complains, trying and failing to pry Shizuo’s hands off his jacket lapel. He stumbles but the force of the other man pulling him along means that he has to keep walking or else his knees will drag along the concrete. “Lemme go, Shizu-chan, you animal.”

 

Shizuo grinds his teeth together and keeps dragging the unbalanced man behind him, fingers clenching his jacket a little tighter. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

 

He repeats the mantra over and over until his apartment building is in sight. It takes longer than usual to get back thanks to Izaya’s inebriated state. He falls three times en route - once on his ass, the second time on his knees and the final fall occurs just outside Shizuo’s front door. The blond busies himself with finding his keys as Izaya is still stumbling up the stairs to the landing, then there’s a crash, a shout and Shizuo is stomping back down the hallway to find the other man flat out, face first on the floor.

 

“Tripped on the stairs huh?” Shizuo says, rolling his eyes. “So much for your usual grace.”

 

He doesn’t bother picking Izaya up, he just grabs one of his arms and starts dragging him across the landing. When they arrive in front of the door Izaya is groaning in pain and he manages to clamber onto his hands and knees when Shizuo releases him. Before he can stand the blond grabs the back of his collar and hauls him up, then gently pushes him into the darkness of his apartment.

 

“Y-you jus’ say I was graceful?” Izaya asks, brows furrowing as he tries to concentrate.

 

Shizuo simultaneously flicks on the light and shuts the door. He makes a face at Izaya and pushes him toward the sofa in the middle of the room. “No, you imagined it. Sit down, you need water and I dunno, bread or something.”

 

“Call my secretary,” he slurs, collapsing heavily onto the sofa. He starts rifling slowly through his pockets. “She’ll be able to work out wh- ugh, room’s spinning so much.”

 

The blond raises a brow and peers over the sofa at the other man. He’s hunched over, shoulders shaking violently. “Are you gonna throw up?”

 

“N-no,” Izaya gasps, curving further in on himself. “Nothing to throw up. J-just feels weird. Can’t focus.”

 

Shizuo retrieves a glass of water from the kitchenette attached to the living room and rounds the sofa so he can crouch in front of Izaya. He knocks the glass gently against his knee, prompting the other man to open his bleary eyes. He stares vacantly at Shizuo, clearly trying to process the gesture.

 

“It’s just water. Drink it all.”

 

“A-aren’t y’gonna poison me?” Izaya says. A half smile forms on his face. “Don’t you wanna kill me?”

 

The blond doesn’t reply at first. He’s surprised to find that none of his usual hatred comes rushing to the surface. What he’s feeling is a lot more difficult to handle - pity. Izaya certainly doesn’t deserve pity, not from Shizuo, not from anyone, but it’s hard not to feel a pang of _something_ for the man in his present state.

 

So Shizuo just shrugs and pushes the glass of water into Izaya’s hand. “Not right now. I’ll kill you tomorrow.”

 

Izaya wraps his trembling fingers around the cup but he’s shaking so much that he can’t keep it still and water splashes onto his trousers. With a sigh, Shizuo takes it back and pushes a finger into the informant’s chest so that he’s leaning against the back of the sofa. He seats himself down next to Izaya and raises the glass up to his face. The informant takes the hint, lets his mouth fall out and Shizuo rests the rim of the glass on his bottom lip. The blond watches him carefully as he takes small sips of the liquid, gaze linger on the fluctuating muscles of his throat as he swallows. Quickly, he looks down at the floor, trying to ignore the odd squirming in his stomach. Izaya turns his head to the side and Shizuo moves the glass away from his face.

 

“Weirdo,” Izaya grumbles, head lolling forward. His eyes flutter shut and he starts to slump, so Shizuo stands up and allows him to fall sideways onto the sofa. The blond sighs and sets the water down on the coffee table so he can grab hold of Izaya’s ankles and swing them up onto the couch as well. He yanks the other man’s shoes off and chucks them into the corner of the room, not caring at all for the well-being of the expensive leather. Izaya’s still frowning, his brows are furrowed and his body is trembling gently but his eyes remain shut and Shizuo takes that as a sign that he wants to sleep.

 

“Oi flea,” he says, flicking Izaya on the forehead. The action isn’t aggressive but it’s still heavy enough to make the informant’s eyes open and his face contort with pain.

 

“Ow - the f-fuck Shizu?”

 

Shizuo growls under his breath and stands upright, hands moving into his pockets. “Don’t do anything weird while I’m sleepin’. If I wake up with a knife in me I’ll crush your head with my bare hands.”

 

“Mmm, I don’t doubt it,” Izaya murmurs, tiredly. “Don’t worry Shizu-chan, I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a while.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Izaya smiles, though the usual sharpness is lost due to the way his bottom lip is quivering. The lamp-light emphasizes how unnatural his eyes are tonight, the pupils enormous and shiny but vacant of their usual mischief.

 

“To put it crudely, I f-feel high as heaven. Even at the best of times I’m not quite in my right mind,” Izaya says, a sour laugh bubbling beneath his admission. “But right now, I’m not there at all. Might as well be someone else in my brain at the moment.”

 

“Hmm, maybe that’s why you’re not pissin’ me off so much,” Shizuo says, the corner of his mouth turning up into a slight smile. “Just go to sleep, I’m sure you’ll be fine in the morning once it’s worn off. Then we’ll be back to killing each other as usual.”

 

The informant closes his eyes and hums happily. “I can’t wait.”

 

Shizuo shakes his head and turns off the lamp before heading into his bedroom. He considers shoving his dresser in front of the door but he knows that Izaya would still be capable of getting inside if he put his mind to it, so he doesn’t bother. Exhausted, confused and still a little tipsy, he collapses face first onto his bed and falls asleep before he’s even taken off his clothes.

  


-0-

  


It’s one thirty by the time the blond wakes up. The first thing that hits him is the hangover and the stale taste of cigarettes in the back of his throat. With a groan, he pushes himself into a sitting position with his legs over the side of the bed and runs a hand through his hair. Water, that’s what he needs. Water and junk food - there’s a pizza delivery menu on the fridge. Yeah, it might be a little unhealthy to eat pizza for breakfast but honestly he really couldn’t give less of a fuck at the moment.

 

With a sigh, he gets to his feet and traipses into the living area. His clothes are crumpled, so he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it onto the back of the sofa. Shizuo moves into the kitchen and heads straight for the fridge, where he retrieves an unopened can of soda. For a moment he stands still, gulping down the fizzy drink like he’s dying of thirst. His mouth is so dry that’s what it feels like - damn. It’s only as he reaches for the pizza menu behind one of the magnets on the fridge that he remembers there’s someone else in the house. Shizuo straightens up and quietly rounds the kitchen counter to stand at the back of the sofa. When he peers over, he’s surprised to find that Izaya is still there, fast asleep.

 

That’s unexpected.

 

The informant is sprawled out across the entire sofa, one arm twisted behind his head, one leg tipping off the edge. He looks peaceful, if a little pale. His hair is even wilder than it was before and his expensive suit is rumpled so much that it's lost all class. At some point he must have taken off the jacket as it’s now in a pile beneath the coffee table. The white shirt he’s wearing has come untucked and is riding up his stomach, revealing the expanse from his hips to the bottom of his ribs. His skin is smooth apart from the rather grisly looking scar which sits just below his navel. The wound has healed but it’s too red to be more than a couple of months old. Shizuo looks away - it feels wrong to see Izaya this. What’s even stranger is the absence of the usual anger he feels when he gets a glimpse of the flea. He thinks about leaving him to sleep but Izaya stirs before he gets the chance to turn away.

 

When the informant opens his eyes Shizuo notes that they seem a lot more natural than the drug-induced look from the night before. Izaya blinks a few times before he notices the man peering down at him. The informant frowns, then the penny seems to drop and recognition floods his face.

 

“Ah,” he says, blankly. His voice is hoarse and his lips stick together as he speaks. “Shizu-chan.”

 

“Flea,” Shizuo replies, with a nod. He shifts his weight to the other foot, feeling rather awkward. “Uh - how are you feeling?”

 

Izaya sits up and runs a hand through his hair. It does nothing to help the bird’s nest and he sighs. “Like I've been hit by a truck. I'm sure you can sympathise with that.”

 

The blond rolls his eyes. “There’s water on the coffee table. You should drink it.”

 

Surprisingly, Izaya nods and reaches for the glass nearby. Shizuo purses his lips. He was expecting some shitty reply from the other man, something more along the lines of their usual discourse. Instead Izaya drains the cup and looks around the small apartment, then back at Shizuo. He shakes the empty glass and finally his usual smirk reappears.

 

“Water,” he demands.

 

The lack of question makes Shizuo bristle. He drops down into the armchair opposite the sofa and points toward the kitchenette. “Sink’s over there. Get it yourself.”

 

Izaya pouts and gets to his feet, huffing loudly. “Such a bad host.”

 

“You overstayed your welcome from the moment you fell over the threshold,” Shizuo snaps, scowling at the other man. He looks over the pizza menu and fishes in his trouser pocket for his phone.

 

Izaya moves into the kitchen area, looking around with his nose wrinkled in disgust. “This place is tiny. How does a monster like you even fit in here?”

 

Shizuo takes a deep breath to avoid breaking another phone and ignores him as he rattles off further complaints between sips of water. As soon as he flips open the mobile the screen goes black. “Fuck sake, battery life on this thing is shit.”

 

“Who’re you calling?” Izaya asks, refilling the glass for a third time. “The police? It’s not considered breaking and entering if you invite me in, Shizu-chan.”

 

The blond grits his teeth together. “No, jackass. Pizza. I’m hungry.”

 

“Use my phone,” Izaya replies, gesturing to the jacket under the table. “Inside pocket. There’s an app you can use rather than having to call someone.”

 

Shizuo furrows his brow in confusion. “Use your phone?”

 

“Are you deaf or just thick?”

 

“Shut up,” he growls, crumpling the pizza menu into a ball. “I’m surprised you’ll let me use your damn phone when I can crush it to dust if I want.”

 

Izaya shrugs and leans back against the kitchen counter. He looks exhausted and Shizuo wonders if that’s the reason he’s being more docile than usual. The snark and sarcasm are still there, obviously, but he hasn’t gone too far yet nor has he tried to pull a knife. “Call it a thank you.”

 

“What for?”

 

“For-“ he pauses and his gaze drops to the glass of water in his hand. “Helping me last night.”

 

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment, then Shizuo sighs and reaches for the jacket under the table. He rummages around in the pockets until he finds the mobile, which he tosses onto the sofa. “You’re buying the fucking pizza. That’s a better thank you.”

 

Izaya smirks and moves across the room so he can sit back down. He places the glass on the floor and takes ahold of the discarded phone. “If I’m buying then I’m choosing.”

 

“I want-“

 

“No pineapple.”

 

“But-“

 

Izaya clicks his tongue derisively and makes a few quick movements on the touchscreen with his fingers. “Oops I already ordered. Sorry, no pineapple. How can you even like that, it’s disgusting.”

 

“I like it,” Shizuo grunts. He fishes a packet of smoke from his trousers and pats his chest, wanting the lighter that’s usually in his top pocket. It’s only then that he realises he’s half naked. Half naked in front of _Izaya_. A light flush spreads across his face as he stands and swiftly strides towards his bedroom. It’s not that he’s embarrassed of his body, he’s never cared about that sort of thing, but it feels strange to have his most hated foe staring at him without any clothes on. A soft chuckle comes from the other room as he quickly pulls on a t-shirt. There’s a spare lighter on his bedside table, which he pockets before turning to the door. When he ventures back, heading for the kitchen, Izaya is still laughing.

 

“You have a lot of scars.”

 

Shizuo winces as he jerks open the fridge. His hangover sucks but he feels the need for another beer. It must be the presence of the annoying flea in his house. Never mind, he has a few days off and ‘hair of the dog’ wasn’t too bad an idea. Kadota invited him to another party this evening, so might as well start early, right? He cracks open the can and moves back to the armchair, where he finally meets Izaya’s gaze.

 

“You gave me a lot of ‘em,” he grumbles, taking a swig of beer. The alcohol makes his stomach roll so he lights a cigarette to take the edge off. Izaya turns his nose up at the smell but surprisingly doesn’t complain. Shizuo gestures to his own stomach, then to Izaya. “You got a pretty nasty one there. Happen recently?”

 

The informant smirks and a hand comes up to feel the wound below his shirt. “Were you peeking at my body whilst I was asleep, Shizu-chan? How perverse.”

 

He’s obviously trying to get a rise and unfortunately, it works. Shizuo’s face goes beet red and his expression sours until he’s glaring furiously at the other man. “No, I fucking wasn’t.”

 

“I’m flattered, really-“

 

“Stop avoiding my question,” Shizuo snaps, smoke curling from between his lips. “You’re impossible to have a conversation with, y’know that?”

 

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep up,” he drawls, grin widening. Shizuo lets out a low, threatening growl and Izaya raises his hands next to his head. “Okay, okay. Calm down, monster.”

 

“I’m _not_ a-“

 

Izaya pulls up the hem of his shirt until the scar is visible and trails his forefinger gently over the ridge. “I was stabbed. It was a few months ago now but it’s still healing. Not all of us have freakish abilities like yourself.”

 

The blond ignores the insult, focused solely on the wound on his stomach. “How’d you get yourself stabbed?”

 

“Oh I don’t think there’s any need to get into the technicalities,” Izaya answers, skirting around the issue _again._ He lets his shirt fall back into place and laces his hands together in his lap. “Let’s just say someone wasn’t too happy that I was looking into his private affairs.”

 

The response makes Shizuo roll his eyes. Of course Izaya went and got himself stabbed. He’s always poked his nose in where it’s not wanted and played with fire - Yakuza, colour gangs, _Shizuo_. He can’t be sure whether Izaya is the moth to a flame, or the flame itself. The latter seems more likely, Izaya’s always burned ferociously. Burned at both ends, burned bright enough to blind those around him - Shizuo thinks about the scar and the way his eyes looked last night. Burned out? Perhaps, behind the wicked grin he looks tired.

 

“You’re an idiot, flea,” he says, shaking his head. “Why’d you get yourself into these situations? Why would you want a job where you risk death every day?”

 

Izaya shrugs but the way his eyes darken shows Shizuo that he knows _exactly_ why he does such things. “I don’t know. I get bored easily. I don’t have a death wish or anything foolish like that.”

 

“Oh yeah? Then why do you always provoke me?” he challenges, drawing in another breath of smoke.

 

The informant blinks, brows pulling together in the centre of his forehead. He swallows thickly then forces a strained smile onto his face. “Because I know you won’t kill me, not really.”

 

That takes Shizuo by surprise and he accidentally drops his cigarette onto the floor. Quickly he dips and grabs hold of it before it burns a hole in the carpet. After fumbling for a moment, he looks back up at Izaya, who is staring absently back.

 

“And how do you know that?” Shizuo asks, trying to veer the conversation back to their usual violent banter rather than this uncomfortable peace. “I could rip you in half.”

 

“Physically, yes you could kill me quite easily,” Izaya admits, gaze lingering on the tears across Shizuo’s knuckles from one of the many fights he got into last week. “But you wouldn’t finish me off, you have too many cumbersome morals, Shizu-chan. I know that because you are quite the opposite of me and I have no such qualms.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Izaya sighs. He shifts his weight awkwardly and doesn’t meet Shizuo’s eye. “If I’d found you out of your mind on drugs - _weakened_ \- on the streets, I wouldn’t have hesitated to slit your thr-.”

 

“Yes you would,” he interrupts. Izaya raises a brow but before he can hiss a reply Shizuo continues. “I mean, you probably would have killed me but you’d have gotten someone else to do it. That’s how you work.”

 

A grin breaks out on Izaya’s face. “Contrary to your opinion Shizu-chan, in your solitary case I would gladly get my hands dirty.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Because you’re-” he pauses and the grin twists into confusion. He looks surprised, as if the thoughts in his head were intrusive and unexpected. “If someone else- I mean, I- if I’d been killed last night, how would you have reacted?”

 

Shizuo contemplates the situation. At first he wants to snap back with _‘over the fucking moon_ ’ but he keeps his mouth shut to mull over the subject further. If Izaya died life would be a lot more peaceful but - and he’s loathed to admit this - a lot less exciting. The idea of someone else choking the life out of him should be pleasing but it’s only good when they’re _his_ hands. The idea of someone else driving a knife into Izaya’s belly makes him feel sick but were it- he doesn’t continue his thought, too disturbed by the revelation. It’s a violent possession that makes them want to hurt one another and, in Shizuo’s case at least, protect Izaya when the prospect of other dangers rear their head.

 

His thoughts are too heavy and there’s a knock at the door as the pizza arrives, so he draws another breath of smoke then mumbles, “I’d be over the fucking moon.”

  



End file.
